


Love in Camera

by RinKim



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, F/M, M/M, Model Levi, Modeling, Photographer Eren, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinKim/pseuds/RinKim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren is a talented photographer; his photos are always perfect, able to show stored emotions, new colors, and hidden secrets. He can reflect and capture a sky in a person's eyes in his pictures - he can capture their souls, stripping them off to their skin for the whole audience to see. However, who would have thought that the hands of such a talented young boy, would shake, when he stood in front of one of the sassiest, most handsome models in the whole profession?<br/>Just as Eren is able to capture every single facial structure Levi shows; Levi is able to capture Eren's heart as easy as blinking.<br/>There's just one problem: Levi's boyfriend looks just as handsome as Captain America, who just stepped out from a comic book...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in Camera

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue to my newest Ereri fanfiction, "Love in Camera". 
> 
> This prologue is not edited yet by my editor, so please be patient since English isn't my mother tongue. 
> 
> Please enjoy~

**Definition of IN CAMERA [in cam·er·a]**

> _\- in private, out of the public, secretly -_

 

_"And now, here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye."_

\- The Little Prince, Antione de Saint-Exupéry

 

 

New year had just passed, and it was in the middle of the cold, biting, tearing winter of 2018. The snow was falling heavily in the winding streets like a thick blanket of anemones, covering the otherwise dirty tiles underneath which represented the twisted pavement where I was walking. I watched my steps, feeling how the uneven tiles underneath my thin, black faux leather boots almost made me trip over and over again. I might've looked drunk to a normal person, skating around on the slippery surfaces of the tiles, but my walk was nothing compared to the outcasts in the alleyways, with bodies lying in fetal position, a few of them almost sitting up against some of the crumbling brick walls, while their bodies were shaking. It didn't take a genius to understand, that they weren't shaking from the biting cold; they were shaking in need and addiction, for more of the disgusting substance from the empty needles being spread all over the alleyway. 

This was just one of the typical things I would see while walking home to my small apartment. 

Apart from that, there were drunks walking the winding streets, singing from the top of their lungs different lyrics to different songs, though the most of their words didn't make much sense. There were young girls, wearing short skirts, dangerously low-cut tops, and high heels that left me staring in wonder how they didn't fall or twist an ankle on the slippery streets. Those girls had earlier asked me where I was heading, how much money I had, if I needed company, and so much more inappropriate questions that I don't even like remembering. 

Yes, this was just a small part of the wonderful city, Paris.

Paris, the city for possibilities, dreams, blinding lights, romance, drugs, and all the things drugs brought with it.

This wasn’t the picture I had painted of Paris inside my mind, when I first settled on moving here all the way from Germany, but there was no turning back; I wouldn’t be welcome anywhere if I returned to Germany anyway. My father had thrown me out of the home I grew up in, because I was attracted to men. That was his way of showing his fatherly love, it still stung in my eyes whenever I thought about the betrayed, disgusted look in his eyes when I decided to come out of the closet.

Maybe I would be able to mend in just perfectly in Paris; I could mend in with the outcasts for sure.

Yeah, with the outcasts.

I would mend just perfectly with the outcasts that other people had thrown away, given the cold shoulder, left to die in the cold.

A heavy sigh left my dry, almost frozen, lips, creating a small cloud of fog in front of my face. My hands unconsciously tightened their grip on the black folder in my arms as I picked up my pace since I didn’t want to end up like a popsicle in this deathly cold. It was late as well, the clock nearing midnight on the fifth day of 2018. My feet felt like big blocks of ice as I dragged them through the snow mixed with different kinds of fireworks waste that still hadn’t been thrown away.

This, was Paris.

This was the city of possibilities, dreams, blinding lights and romance - this was the city, where I had spent the best two months of my life. This was the city where I fell in love for the very first time.

But the love of my life, doesn’t love me back.

This was indeed the city, where I had spent the best two months of my life, before I had my heart broken into a thousand pieces.

 


End file.
